with imperishable honours! D stands for deserter—ay, and for demagogue—yes, and for demon too. Many a man shall come home with but half of himself, half his body, less than half his soul.
"Alas! the mother that him bare,
If she could stand in presence there,
In that wan cheek and wasted air,
She would not know her child."
"Better," you say, "for us better, and for themselves better by far, if they had left that remnant of a body in the common ditch where the soldier finds his ’bed of honour;' better have fed therewith the vultures of a foreign soil than thus come back." No ; better come back, and live here, mutilated, scourged, branded, a cripple, a pauper, a drunkard, and a felon ; better darken the windows of the gaol, and blot the gallows with unusual shame, to teach us all that such is war, and such the results of every "famous victory," such the imperishable honours that it brings, and how the war-makers love the men they rule!
O Christian America! O New England, child of the Puritans! Cradled in the wilderness, thy swaddling garments stained with martyrs' blood, hearing in thy youth the war-whoop of the savage and thy mother's sweet and soul-composing hymn:
"Hush, my child, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed;
Heavenly blessings, without number.
Rest upon thine infant head."
Come, New England, take the old banners of thy conquering host, the standards borne at Monterey, Palo Alto, Buena Vista, Yera Cruz, the "glorious stripes and stars" that waved over the walls of Churubusco, Contreras, Puebla, Mexico herself, flags blackened with battle and stiffened with blood, pierced by the lances and torn with the shot; bring them into thy churches, hang them up over altar and pulpit, and let little children, clad in white raiment and crowned with flowers, come and chant their lessons for the day.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God."
